


late nights and sleeping aliens

by piedpiper



Category: Sparks Nevada Marshal on Mars, The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, alcohol cw maybe, no seriously just shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:19:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piedpiper/pseuds/piedpiper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cactoid Jim has moved mountains before, or so the legends say. He can carry a drunk alien inside, no problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	late nights and sleeping aliens

The light over the front door is out when Jim pulls the hovercar into the parking lot beside their small apartment building. The digital clock on the dashboard blinks 1:37 AM, glowing blue light lighting up the interior of the car on and off, on and off. The crickets outside have mostly gone to sleep and there's an ache behind Jim's eyes. They're neither of them as young as they used to be, or at least Jim isn’t. They shouldn’t be staying out till the wee hours of karaoke night anymore.

He reaches over and shakes Jib by the shoulder lightly. "Hey, Jibs, hon, wake up. We're here."

The alien is curled up fast asleep in human form in the passenger seat of the car, breathing in weird patterns that are probably his version of snoring. Back in the future they used to say that Jupiterians never slept, that they snooped around looking for your secrets 24/7. Turns out that's just xenophobic propaganda, though, because Jib sleeps like a sticky purple log.

Case in point, he barely even stirs now when Jim shakes him again. He does mumble something in Jupiterian which Jim translates to the best of his ability as “ _Sorry, buddy, I’m sleeping for like a week until I’m not drunk anymore, just leave me here._ ”

Jim looks at him for a while, exhausted but affectionate, and sighs. He should have known this would happen. Jib’s system doesn’t handle alcohol well, they’ve figured that out by now. Even as a human it knocks him right out after a couple drinks. But Jim can’t keep him away from anything pink and fruity, and by now he’s given up trying.

“Okay,” Jim says, mostly to himself. “Right. Sure." He gets out of the car, walks around to the other side, and maneuvers Jib out of the passenger door after a lot of quiet hissing at the car’s AI about seat belts. He pulls Jib upright, trying not to scrape anything against the concrete of the parking lot, and manages to get his floppy, sleeping body slung over Jim's back like a little kid. The human form that Jib’s settled on isn't particularly light for someone who's barely 5'8" in sparkly pink dress pumps, but Jim's pretty sure he’s got this. Cactoid Jim has moved mountains before, or so the legends say. He can carry a drunk alien inside, no problem.

Turns out the elevator in the apartment building is mysteriously broken and four months of past-Earth desk work hasn't done Jim's back muscles any good. So... maybe a _slight_ problem. But Jim’ll be darned if he isn't going to carry through with any plan he sets his mind to.

He makes it up the three flights of stairs with only a couple of heart-stopping stumbles and leans against the wall to get the apartment keys out of his pocket, breathing heavily. Jib's latched onto him a little, alien-snoring in his ear all the way up and occasionally muttering indecipherable things in multiple languages, which Jim finds _really_ cute even if his back does not. Sure, Jibs maybe froze him in carbonite for a couple months once, but you can't deny he's adorable. Besides, he said sorry about the carbonite, and what more can you ask of a person?

Their apartment isn’t really big enough for two people. It started out as just Jim’s apartment, back when he first took the portal back to past Earth and hadn’t realized yet that Jib’d followed him. It’s got a modest living room and a modest kitchen and one bedroom with one bed, just about big enough for one man living on an office salary. They’ve talked about moving, but neither of them really mind the lack of space. Jim’s lived in space capsules way smaller than this with multiple other people, and Jib just makes himself at home wherever he is. That does mean he makes a mess out of every available surface, but Jim doesn’t mind cleaning. And the lack of multiple beds has ended up being much less of a problem than Jim at least originally anticipated. So it’s been working out pretty much fine so far, apart from Jim occasionally stubbing his toes in the middle of the night on the strange, bubble-shaped pieces of technology that Jib leaves scattered on the floor.

He manages to avoid stepping on anything metal and crunchy now by doing an extremely heavy-footed sideways dance to the bedroom. He dumps the floppy Jib on their double bed and collapses on his back next to him, trying to catch his breath for a couple minutes. He’s half-asleep but not so much that he’s willing to sleep on top of the covers, and for that he has to undress them both at least some.

Turns out he is _really_ exhausted. He only manages to gets his and Jib’s shoes off before he gives up and drags the comforter over both of them. He’ll deal with everything else tomorrow. He can do that. Cactoid Jim doesn’t get hangovers.

Cactoid Jim sleeps for days, using clouds for pillows and a river for a bed, whenever he does sleep. That’s what the legends say. Or anyway, that’s what the legends would say if anyone on this version of Earth knew them. But here and now nobody knows him as anything more than James Lyons, ordinary office worker who failed miserably at doing right by his ex-wife but who’s still trying to work things out with his son. And Jim guesses James Lyons can probably sleep in some tomorrow. Maybe make them both some waffles. Who knows.

He’s on the edge of sleep when he feels two pairs of arms wrap around him from behind and a slightly sticky chin hooks itself over his shoulder. Even this tired, he knows Jupiterians don’t shapeshift in their sleep.

“You were awake all the time,” he mutters. 

“Only like half awake,” Jib tells him, only slightly slurred. “You are _super_ strong,” He presses a kiss into Jim’s neck. “Night, James.”

“Night, Jibs,” Jim whispers, and grins into the dark  as he drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> My side of a holiday fic exchange with gershwincecilpalmer of Tumblr, as well as the short beginnings of what I assume will be my ongoing efforts to create enough Cactoid Jib fic to float the entire fandom.


End file.
